3
The chronic shortage of aviation spirit and materials for aircraft construction forced stringent economies including the halting of new developments considered speculative or whose completion was too far off. The Luftwaffe had been led to expect that it had until 1942 to equip for a major confrontation but in the event Germany had the dreaded scenario of war on two fronts once the Wehrmacht made its incursion into Soviet Russia on 21 June 1941. The day before, Hitler had ordered a reduction in the army and naval budget in favour of Luftwaffe armaments. Immediately following the announcement Goering demanded that the strength of the Luftwaffe be quadrupled and empowered his Secretary of State, Generalinspekteur Erhard Milch, to carry out the special task of establishing the capacity of the German aviation industry.
Milch requested from Goering a written appointment as plenipotentiary and received by return a document endowing him with unique scope. There was practically nothing which lay outside his jurisdiction from the closing down of factories to the building of new ones.
At that time aviation production was in a poor state and output was insufficient to cover combat losses. Factory managers blamed two factors: shortages of labour and aluminium. Milch had this allegation investigated and discovered scarce aluminium and aeronautical-quality sheet-plate was being diverted to non-aircraft processes. He also found that Udet had made a significant reduction in engine production and the output of bombers, particularly the He 111 and Ju 88, but that no new bomber type was scheduled for series production. Even the Me 210, an improved version of the Bf 110, would not be operational before October 1942.
German intelligence was supplying horrendous reports regarding the rapidly growing production of aircraft in the still neutral United States and even Britain, where the factories were not disturbed by nightly enemy bombardment and could thus work at full output. Finally Milch learned that the new diveable bomber types would not be ready for operations before 1944.
By now very perturbed, Milch took Udet with him to visit Messerschmitt at Augsburg for the purpose of investigating the situation respecting the Me 109F fighter. Director Rakan Kokothaki had sources in Berlin close to Udet and Milch and knew that both were highly displeased that so few fighters were rolling off the production line. They were most anxious for the new Me 109F with its Daimler – Benz 605 engine, which was still causing serious problems. Furthermore Kokothaki knew of Milch’s exasperation at the succession of new aircraft types at Augsburg at such a critical time, of which as Milch understood it there were at the time no fewer than twelve being worked upon by designers and engineers. Upon notification of the forthcoming visit, Kokothaki recalled advising his chief: ‘For God’s sake, under no circumstances mention any project other than the Me 109F, and particularly not the Me 262.’
Milch and Udet arrived at the works on 7 August 1941. When awkward questions were posed at the very beginning of the tour of inspection about the series production of the Me 109F, Messerschmitt led his guests into another hall where he showed them Me 262 V1. He was convinced that at the first sight of the wonder aircraft they would forget the Me 109F. Milch went red in the face. His small mouth with its narrow lips pursed for a moment into an almost invisible line. Then he demanded, ‘What is the meaning of this, gentlemen? I have not come here to listen to music of the future but to find out how long you are going to keep us waiting to get the Me 109F operational. You are to concern yourselves exclusively with aircraft which we need right now and not with prototypes whose engines are not yet properly in order!’ (In August 1941, the 004A had just managed a thrust of 600 kilos with new turbine wheels on the Junkers test rig.) In connection with this directive, he ordered the head of his Ministry’s aircraft construction monitoring office to ensure that work on the Me 262 was halted at once and all energies focused on a production line for the Me 109F.
Udet stood aside during this scene, lurking in the background in a silent rage. Not until the leave-taking in the administration building did he make his bitter reproaches to Kokothaki regarding the desolate condition of the works. Everything was in pieces and the whole thing was a shambles, he said. Then he rejoined Milch’s entourage for the return flight to Berlin. There is evidence that in the long period preceding the Augsburg visit Milch and Messerschmitt had actively sought a reunion. It was at Milch’s suggestion that Messerschmitt was nominated a Professor. The negative result of the inspection was the final straw for Milch in the relationship with Messerschmitt, and the same was true for Kokothaki. But far, far worse was to follow.
It will be recalled that in 1939, Udet had awarded Messerschmitt a contract to provide, by October 1942, 2,000 light bombers of the designation Me 210, an improved version of the Bf 110. This situation now led directly to the most incomprehensible error of judgement in the history of world aircraft production. Perhaps overconfident because of his great personal ability and the Messerschmitt company’s track record, but also on account of the very short delivery date, Messerschmitt set up the jigs for series production and made a start turning out the airframes before the Me 210 maiden test flight. The latter was by all accounts the most hair-raising twenty minutes in the career of chief test pilot Hermann Wurster, who returned from it alive thanks only to his outstanding ability as a flier. ‘The aircraft is so unstable that it cannot be mass-produced in its present configuration. You couldn’t trust any pilot’s life to it. Apart from other modifications, the fuselage needs to be a metre longer,’ he reported. Faced with this damning opinion from his chief test pilot, Messerschmitt had to decide between losing many millions of Reichmarks or closing his eyes to the major problem and making do with the minor changes. He settled for the latter. After five Me 210 test pilots from the Luftwaffe’s experimental base at Rechlin had been given a decent burial, it was accepted that Dr Wurster was correct. Series production of the Me 210 was halted by the Reich Air Ministry on 13 March 1942 by which time 483 operationally useless machines had been completed.
The major change to the airframe was now no longer possible on the grounds of time alone. The financial loss to Messerschmitt AG was estimated at around RM 40 million (a labourer’s annual wage at the time was about RM 1,500). Enormous sums had to be paid to the suppliers of materials, fitments, equipment and instruments. Scarce raw materials from partially completed aircraft were piled into great mountains of scrap in large warehouses. The loss in aircraft production and valued members of the workforce completed the blow for the Augsburg works, which in peacetime would have been bankrupted. Messerschmitt was relieved of his position as company head and retained only as a technical director.
Naturally, no effort was spared to convert and modify the design into a safer, better aircraft. The result was the Me 410 ‘fast bomber’ with a top speed of 590 kph which could carry a one-tonne payload and was gunned-up as a destroyer aircraft. There was a corresponding reconnaisance version. It was a decent aeroplane certainly, but not one which lived up to the high expectations one had of a Messerschmitt.
Udet committed suicide four months after the Augsburg visit. The grandiose fighter ace of the Great War, the unsurpassable pilot and daredevil aerobatic flier, the man who loved life, it was never within his capabilities to adjust to the hard realities of a high office of state. To blame Udet alone for all the inadequacies, errors of judgement and neglect is unjust. In the Luftwaffe pecking order Udet was below Goering and Milch, and he was the only one who really cared nothing for career and power. He had lived his life as an aviator. The future held only humiliation for him and the loss of his freedom. Therefore he chose to go.
Willy Messerschmitt had no intention of abandoning work on the Me 262 in the wake of Milch’s visit. A few days afterwards he had discussed his situation with Senior Engineer Meyer, head of the monitoring office, and found him sympathetic. All held the view that nothing useful would be served by bringing work on the aircraft to an abrupt halt, for it was making no demands on production capacity nor consuming large quantities of materials. Therefore Meyer agreed to turn a blind eye to no more than two dozen engineers continuing to work on the project.
It was the winter of 1941 before a pair of 003-TL turbines arrived from BMW Berlin-Schönefeld. Once fitted, the ground rolling trials lasted into March 1942. Fritz Wendel familiarised himself with the construction, operation and maintenance of the new engines both during these running trials and also with Junkers at Dessau and BMW. To safeguard the test pilot against all eventualities in the air the central piston engine with spinner would be retained. This motor required its own fuel tank and the back-up system made the aircraft very heavy but it was decided not to take the chance that the new jet engines would provide a trouble-free performance first time out.
In high spirits on 25 March 1942 Wendel carefully pushed the two throttle levers to full power, released the brakes and let the Me 262 roll forward. During the first minute all went well. It was immediately obvious that the aircraft needed more than a 1,000-yard runway but just short of the airfield fence the machine rose quickly to 150 feet. As Wendel was retracting the undercarriage the left jet stopped, quickly followed by the other. A jet aircraft configuration cannot glide and without the piston engine in the nose the aircraft would have fallen to the ground with little hope of survival for the pilot. As it was, Wendel was able to maintain his low height, make a careful circuit and land safely. An engine survey revealed that the compressor blades of both turbines had failed. They were fractured, torn, bent, wrenched from their sockets, had glowed with heat. It was a failure of materials. Materials which had been expected to be, but were not, adequate for the task they were called upon to do. This was not something merely irremediable overnight; there were no basics to go back to, for no prior flight data existed. The test rig in the BMW factory and running trials at Augsburg had proceeded satisfactorily and therefore the failure of both turbines simultaneously was apparently inexplicable. What was not understood at the time was the extent to which scientific research and practical experimentation into materials was necessary to make jet engines as safe as they are for modern commercial passenger-carrying aviation today.
BMW’s engineers retired to Berlin-Schönefeld with their ruined turbines and it would be a long time until they were heard from again. Whether the project would have survived had not the Jumo 004A powerplant reached the completion stage at Junkers Motorenwerke is a moot point. As with BMW, Junkers had also received a contract from the Reich Air Ministry to develop a jet engine. Leading a team of specialist engineers, Dr Herbert Wagner, Head of Development at Junkers, had embarked on the task in 1935. Four years later work began building the 004A.
Von Ohain, with his jet engine for the He 178, and the British designer, Whittle, used radial compressors; Junkers and BMW preferred an axial construction with a smaller frontal surface more suitable for higher air speeds. Dr Anselm Franz, who was responsible for jet-engine development at Junkers at the time and after the war was appointed Vice-President of the Avro – Lycoming Division, Stratford (USA), wrote in 1967:
Taken as a whole, the 004 jet bears great similarity to the modern jet engine. It consisted of an eight-stage axial flow compressor, six single combustion chambers, a single-stage axial turbine which drove the compressor and a jet with an adjustable needle which was built from the beginning for the later addition of an after-burner. A special regulator had been developed which at higher revolutions kept the selected revolutions and the corresponding gas temperature constant automatically. This regulator was mounted together with other equipment on the upper side of the compressor housing. The starter motor was located in the compressor intake hub. The contract specified a thrust of 600 kg at full throttle, but a large reserve was expected. The design of the Jumo 004A was completed in the spring of 1940 and the engine first ran on the test-stand on 11 October 1940. Full revolutions were achieved in December that year and it was run at 430 kg thrust in January 1941. Cracks in the compressor blades caused by vibration then brought the test-stand development to a halt. The designed thrust of 600 kg was reached in August 1941 following modifications to turbine wheel construction. In December the same year the engine was run for ten hours, 1,000 kg thrust being obtained. Apart from the vibration problem mentioned earlier, few other basic flaws came to light in the development and testing of the 004A. After these extremely promising results the Reich Air Ministry contracted for eighty units of 004A for further development and operational testing.
Procuring the high-value and rare materials to progress the 004 development presented special difficulties. Tricks-of-the-trade and improvised solutions had to be employed in order to proceed at all. Dr Franz continues:
The 004A engine was an experimental rig. For that reason and because of the scarcity of certain valuable materials in Germany at the time – heat resistant materials such as nickel, molybdenum and cobalt were simply not available – it was unsuitable for mass production. To mass-produce the Jumo 004B required a far-reaching, radical reappraisal of the situation. As an example I would mention that sheet-plated areas such as the combustion chambers and thrust jet were adapted to take the normal steel plate flw 1010, the surfaces being protected against rust by a layer of aluminium. Special air-cooling measures were necessary to keep the temperature of the plating within acceptable limits. The production-line 004B had a thrust at take-off of 910 kg. On tests beginning in the summer of 1943, fractures were found in the turbine blades. This was due to a resonance between the vibration count of the blades and the vibrations occurring in the six combustion chambers at maximum revolutions. To save time we often resorted to unusual methods. In this particular case I recall well the professional musician with the perfect ear brought in expressly to determine the individual vibration count of each turbine wheel blade by use of a tuning fork. This method was successful. After a short, rather tense period, the difficulties were overcome substantially by a slight increase in the vibration count of the blades and a corresponding reduction of the maximum revolutions count from 9,000 to 8,700 revs per minute . . .
Dr Franz’s report highlights the Achilles’ heel of the jet engine in the development stages: the material of which the turbine wheel blades were manufactured. They were required to withstand a very high degree of heat and revolved at enormous velocity. It remained an awkward snag in jet engine development years after the war. One cannot praise highly enough the success of the Junkers Motorenwerke people in solving such problems under the adverse circumstances of the time. Although there were occasional breakdowns, they occurred relatively seldom in the operational career of the Me 262.
It is fair to assume that the problem defeated BMW’s engineers. The failure of the two jet engines on the first test flight was in no way attributable to technical inadequacy on their part but rather to the absence of technical experience in a completely new field and the general shortage of materials in Hitler’s Germany.
Four months had passed since the unsuccessful maiden flight of the V1 with a pair of inadequate BMW turbines. Meanwhile work had proceeded apace on prototypes V2 and V3 and these two aircraft had each received two Jumo 004A turbines. Despite the proven wisdom of the belt-and-braces approach, it had been decided to run the risk of pure jet flight. V1 had been relieved of its piston engine and none had ever been installed in the other two prototypes.
For security reasons but also because the runway was a hundred yards longer than at Augsburg, the V3 maiden flight took place at Leipheim. This was the aerodrome where the Messerschmitt Giganten, the Me 321 and 323, were flown and tested and security was very tight there.
Following the successful completion of the usual tests and rolling trials, 18 July 1942 was set for the first Me 262 jet flight.
Using results obtained from take-offs with the piston-engined V1, calculations had shown that with an all-up weight of five tonnes, V3 would leave the ground at a speed of 180 kph. It was known from runway trials using the jet powerplant that this speed was reached at a point about 800 yards from where the brakes were released. It left a reserve of only 300 yards from the end of the runway. This was not much, and – worse – on the rolling trials at between 170 and 180 kph, the V3 had so far shown no inclination to want to lift off!
All previous flights had been made with a propeller running. After hurtling down the runway on more occasions than he cared to count, Fritz Wendel had now determined the cause of the problem. Since there was no air stream from a spinner, the attitude of the upper wing was influenced by the strong slipstream behind it. This reduced the effectiveness of the flaps to the extent that when the aircraft was approaching its take-off speed, it had still not assumed the designed horizontal attitude. A nose wheel would solve the problem but it was out of the question to suspend the test programme while the two jet-engined prototypes were fitted with a retractable nose wheel, or a modified V4 built.
The reportedly unfavourable demeanour of the competent Reich Air Ministry officials towards what was beginning to look like a new type might perhaps have brought the whole project to an untimely conclusion. The rejection of the two perfectly viable Heinkel aircraft, including the He 178 jet, in August 1939 had not been forgotten and the scarcity of certain valuable materials was assuming worrying proportions. In short, there were plausible reasons for the gentlemen in Berlin to postpone the whole enterprise until after Final Victory had been achieved, an event of which all were still confident at the time. In the struggle between technology and politics lay the root of tragedy, as one would later discover.
Compared with great concerns of State in Berlin, the worries which preoccupied Leipheim were minor matters indeed, except to Wendel, who was now facing a challenge involving the question of his personal survival. During the deliberations as to how the Me 262 V3 tailplane could be elevated enough for take-off, the apparently absurd suggestion was put forward that at 180 kph and only 300 metres from the end of the runway, Wendel should step on the footbrake. If he got the pressure just right, it would get the tail up, at the same time raising the tail control surfaces out of the slipstream. The idea was logical and it would work, that was obvious. But it meant dicing with death.
If the pilot braked too hard at that speed, he risked somersaulting the aircraft. Even without full tanks his chances of survival would be slender. If on the other hand he applied the brakes too gently, the tailplane would not rise sufficiently and the ailerons would not escape the evil influence of the slipstream. Whatever he did next, he was bound to overshoot the runway end. Suddenly ploughing through a cornfield at 120 knots or so would require luck for survival. Those were the two alternatives which went alongside success; the odds were two-to-one on for disaster, and when the possibility of failure of one or both engines (as had happened previously) was thrown in for good measure, he reckoned his chances of survival as no better than 25 per cent. It was with this outcome in mind that at 08:40 hrs on 18 July 1942 he pushed the two throttle levers of V3 to maximum thrust.
300 yards from the runway end the pilot stabbed firmly but briefly at the footbrake. The nose of the jet dipped to the horizontal, the ailerons came into the airstream and the aircraft obeyed the stick. Just beyond the 900-yard mark the Me 262 rose into the air. The sharp whine of the Junkers jets remained constant and in his joy at the successful take-off, Wendel dismissed from his mind all the earlier difficulties. Instead of the robust, noisy piston engine squatting in the fuselage ahead of him to which he had become so accustomed, he heard only a soft rustling like a refreshing breeze. The control surfaces were slick to respond and the 5-tonne machine cruised like a bird carried on a thermal.
For a few seconds the pilot surrendered to this glorious sensation of carefree gliding. Remembering his duties, he noted that the instruments read normal, the aircraft felt comfortable and stable, sweet when trimmed. If he released his hold of the control stick the machine had a slight tendency to drift left, but that would be quickly ironed out once he landed. Seldom had Fritz Wendel been so satisfied, so lyrical, about a maiden flight. Yes, it was something to savour. In those days a maiden flight consisted of a single circuit around the town and every pilot was cock-a-hoop if everything went smoothly and no murderous dangers suddenly cropped up. After ten minutes in the air he was in the long drawn-out turn for a sedate approach to the airstrip. With jets throttled back, V3 sank slowly lower; the runway came ever nearer and without difficulty the wheels squelched. The flight had lasted twelve minutes in all. And then it was all jubilation: onlookers running from the airfield buildings, the groundstaff crowding round to offer their congratulations, an exultant Willy Messerschmitt.
An immediate conference involving Messerschmitt, his designers and the Junkers engineers followed the maiden flight. After an examination of the airframe and powerplant it was decided to adjust the control surfaces for trim and refuel the aircraft for a second flight. Wendel took off again just after midday and began a prescribed series of tests. On his return he reported that when banking steeply, the aircraft could not achieve a tight turn and the control stick felt heavy. The defect here seemed to lie in the wing design.
The Me 262 prototypes were built to an arrow-head plan in which the edges of the inner wing, i.e., from the wing root to the engine nacelle, were at a right angle to the fuselage. This part of the wing was exposed to high aerodynamic forces and the airflow spilled away too quickly. The swept-back configuration of the wings therefore only began at the outer engine casing.
The necessary modifications took about three weeks. The inner wing was broadened so that the whole wing was now swept back from the root. This gave the Me 262 its final form. The larger and more effective angle of attack provided the aircraft with a more acute turning radius and a slower landing speed, both crucial for fighter operations.
The Reich Air Ministry had been kept informed of progress, and at this point decided to appoint its own Luftwaffe test pilot. One of the most experienced was Heinrich Beauvais from the Rechlin Test Centre who telephoned Wendel and quickly agreed a date for the flight.
On the morning of 17 August 1942 Wendel escorted his guest to the waiting V3 and spent a good half-hour providing his Rechlin colleague with a careful introduction to the cockpit. First he emphasised the absolute necessity to push the throttle levers forward slowly and cautiously and not with a jerk or brusque movement, because the turbines would stop at once and might catch fire. He demonstrated by moving the levers to show how he did it personally. He explained that after starting the engines, Beauvais should keep the brakes on, allowing the revs to mount slowly until they reached about 8,000 per minute. Then he should release the brakes, let the aircraft move forward and accelerate until the speedometer registered 180 kph. That would be at about the 800-yard mark. Wendel would position himself at the edge of the runway at that point so that Beauvais had a waymarker to know when he had to make the short stab at the brakes to get the tail up and so take off.
Beauvais got into the cockpit while Wendel drove to the 800-yard point. The tone of the V3’s motors slowly swelled louder and he watched as the machine approached faster and faster towards him. The scene was now set for the accident which all had feared.
Wendel had the feeling as he watched the aircraft coming up that it was not moving fast enough. He dismissed the thought at once, for no irregularity was apparent from the howl of the jets nor could he estimate the actual speed of approach. It was ‘just a funny feeling’ but it made Wendel cry out ‘Don’t brake yet!’ He watched in alarm as the Me 262 hurtled past, saw the tailplane rise and then sink back on the tail wheel almost immediately. The thunder of the jets deafening in his ears, Wendel stared horror-struck through the whirling dust as the rear of the aircraft rose up a second time and then subsided again about 150 yards further on.
The V3 was racing at full speed for the end of the runway. Wendel felt the urge to shut his eyes and so blot out the vision of the horrific disaster which now awaited Beauvais and could not be avoided. Spellbound he gazed after the speeding aircraft, had the impression that a last gallant effort was made to raise the tailplane before the Messerschmitt roared off the end of the runway into a cornfield where it was at once enveloped in an enormous cloud of dust.
Wendel heard a dull thump. He remained glued to the spot for a few seconds as he waited for the explosion, or for smoke to rise from the wreck. But below an expanding cloud of yellow-brown dust from the parched earth a deathly stillness reigned.
Wendel sprinted to his car and drove at full speed towards where Beauvais would be, still alive he hoped, perhaps seriously hurt, the best one could expect. He noticed on the other side of the airfield the fire appliances and ambulance also speeding to the accident site. It was mid-August, and a searing heat baked the plain at whose heart lay the Leipheim aerodrome, pasture and surrounding agricultural land. The ground was hard and dry and each of the vehicles trailed a yellowish plume of dust.
Wendel could not understand why the accident had occurred. Beauvais was a very good, reliable pilot, one of the best at the Luftwaffe Test Centre. He understood flight technology. He had tested many new aircraft and had trained himself to expect the unexpected. He was not the type of man who took off regardless, leaving it in the hands of Fate to deliver him and the aircraft back safely. He had flown many captured enemy aircraft transported to Rechlin for examination and had managed to survive without anybody giving him a thirty-minute briefing on the possible pitfalls.
At the controls of V3 he had not made an obvious error, and self-evidently he had applied the correct pressure to the brake at 800 yards since the tailplane had come up horizontally. ‘Damn stupid braking,’ Wendel thought and decided to do all he could to have all Me 262s fitted with a nose wheel. He could not leave operational pilots to guess their way through this accursed braking nonsense as he and Beauvais had done. The cornfield was bounded by a cart-track and halfway round he espied the accident site in an adjoining potato field. Beauvais was standing a few metres away from the ruined Me 262, which had come to a stop slewed broadside to the intended direction of flight. Both engines had been torn from their nacelles and lay aside from the main wreckage. Both wings were damaged, the right more than the left. The leg of the left wheel was bent, the right wheel had broken off. The aircraft was a mess but not irreparable.
As Wendel got out of his car, Beauvais could hardly suppress a grin at the expression on the Messerschmitt pilot’s face. ‘But Beauvais, you’re alive!,’ Wendel cried, pumping his hand, slapping his back. ‘You don’t kill a weed so easily,’ the Rechlin man responded, and stuck his left thumb into his mouth. ‘You’re injured, Beauvais?’
‘I hurt my thumb on the throttle lever, but I don’t need hospitalisation,’ he explained, and returned the thumb to his mouth. ‘So what went wrong then?,’ Wendel demanded. Beauvais reflected for a few seconds. ‘I’ve got no explanation other than this damned heat wave. As you saw, I got the wings up as I passed you. The aircraft was going slower than I expected but I thought the speed would build up OK by the time I got to you. I touched the brakes twice more afterwards as well.’
‘And the revs were right?’
‘Sure. When I released the brakes, both engines had 8,000, and the count didn’t fall off during the run up. I think that the jets had too little thrust because of the outside air temperature – I can’t think of another reason. When the aircraft didn’t take off at the 800-yard mark, it seemed to me to be best to keep going in the hope that eventually she would rise... and the rest you know.’
‘God only knows why you’re here talking to me instead of the angels,’ Wendel told him.
‘After she roared off the airfield,’ Beauvais continued, ‘there was a sudden violent thump as if I had hit a ditch or something and that’s what knocked the wheels off. After that she more or less finished the flight on her belly.’
‘The ditch is actually a footpath across the cornfield, perhaps I should have warned you about it.’
Beauvais gave him a wry smile. ‘I would still have hit it. After we slid to a stop I got out at once because one of the turbines was smouldering. With oil leaking out of the damaged fuel lines, I thought it best to observe from a respectful distance.’ He thought for a few moments and then concluded, ‘If the first time I braked had been a bit later, say at 900 or 950 yards, when the speed was higher, probably I would have got up OK . . .’
As he finished speaking, one of the ambulance men arrived holding in his hand a very large potato, the V3 having ploughed up several furrows in her long slide across the dry land. ‘Take good care of it,’ he said to Beauvais, ‘it’s the first ever harvested by a jet aircraft.’ Beauvais tossed the thick tuber into the air. ‘Yes, I’m sure it is,’ he replied, ‘but what a damn stupid place the farmer chose to grow potatoes.’